


Magic Max

by HolisticPanda



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-07-24 12:22:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16174991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HolisticPanda/pseuds/HolisticPanda
Summary: She thinks he looks too scruffy to be a stripper, that maybe he’d made a wrong turn somewhere and accidentally ended up on the stage—at least until he starts to move. Now a twoshot.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is exactly what you think it is.

“Absolutely not.”

She stares up at the sign for the Rock Ryders strip club, jaw set and green eyes narrowed. What was supposed to be just dinner and drinks with some co-workers had at some point during the night devolved into wanting to see naked men gyrate on stage.

“Come on, Furiosa, we’re already here! Let’s just go in,” Capable, the sole redhead of the group, pleads. She sticks out her lower lip and tries to force a pout but can’t stop a smirk from playing at her lips. She knows that, despite Furiosa’s stern and tough exterior, the woman is extremely susceptible to peer pressure from those that she cares about.

Without even looking at the younger woman, Furiosa tightens her arms, the fabric of her fitted leather jacket scrunching and creaking with the movement. “No.”

“Please?” Cheedo asks. She grabs Furiosa’s arm and tries to pull her towards the club, but the woman won’t move an inch.

“ _No_.”

“Well, I’m goin’ in. I wanna see some dicks,” Toast shrugs, shouldering her bag and striding purposefully into the building. She always had been the most independent and hotheaded of the girls, so no one is surprised when she disappears inside before anyone can stop her. She’s quickly followed by Cheedo, Dag, and Capable, and after shooting Furiosa an apologetic smile, Angharad brings up the rear.

She knows that she shouldn’t follow them. She knows that, without a doubt, she won’t enjoy any of what’s inside the brick and dark glass walls of the building. Still, she sighs loudly and stalks after them, only to find the girls waiting for her just inside the door, almost as though they’d known she was going to join them.

“Told you she’d come!” Capable laughs, grin wide and blue eyes twinkling, “she could never leave us alone in a place like—oh wow.”

Furiosa follows her gaze and raises an eyebrow. She’s completely unperturbed by the muscled man on stage, penis swinging as he crassly humps the ground to some hip hop song. As the head nurse of Sun City General, she’s seen more than her fair share of male genitalia. The girls—she refers to them as girls because when you’re pushing thirty five and the nurses you oversee are barely able to drink they definitely qualify as girls—quickly move to grab a booth with a clear view of the stage, giggling and nudging each other and just generally acting their ages. She'd think it was nice if they weren't all in a strip club.

She strongly considers turning right back around and going home but Cheedo’s surprisingly tight grip on her wrist keeps her from doing anything other than following. She’s both the youngest and most cautious of the group, acting as their moral conscience whenever Furiosa isn’t around to keep them in check, so she feels somewhat obligated to stay and help.

They push her into the middle of the booth and surround her to where she can’t escape, and then Capable immediately orders them a round of beers. “See? This place is great!” the redheads says, hand gesturing vaguely.

Furiosa looks around the building. ‘Great’ isn’t exactly the word she’d use to describe any of it. While it isn’t as sketchy or grimey as she’d initially expected, watching a bunch of women (and a few men) drooling over disgustingly hyper-muscled men in thongs isn’t even close to her idea of a good time.

A somewhat older, though still attractive blonde man who seems to be the MC of the club strides onto the stage like he owns it, and she thinks with some amusement that he probably does. “This next performer is one of a kind. Rode into town six months ago askin’ about a job and I hired him the second he started dancin'. You all know who I’m talkin' about.”

The crowd erupts into screams like they actually _do_ know who he’s talking about, and unable to help herself, Furiosa sits up a little more to get a better look at the stage. She doesn’t _care_ about the stripper, but she is curious as to what the hell everyone’s so excited about.

“Our feature presentation and the man you’ve all been waitin' for. Give it up for _Mister_. _Magic_. _Max_!”

The MC steps off of the stage, the lights lower, and save for a few whistles here and there, the crowd immediately quiets. An R&B song she doesn’t recognize begins playing on the speakers mounted above her, and then a man in an old leather jacket, boots, and ripped blue jeans shuffles slowly onto the stage

She thinks he looks too scruffy to be a stripper, that maybe he’d made a wrong turn somewhere and accidentally ended up on the stage—at least until he starts to move. His initial movements seem hesitant, unsure, but as soon as the lyrics start he transforms into a completely different person. His body suddenly relaxes and his face takes on a provocative expression that sends an unexpected wave of heat through her body.

Try as she might she can’t tear herself away from his performance. He’s breathtaking, for lack of a better word. Every movement he makes is precise but fluid in direct opposition to the rough thrusting of the stripper that’d come before him, and there’s absolutely no sign of the homeless looking man she’d initially pegged him as.

‘Max’ pulls off his battered leather jacket and throws it behind him making the screams grow even louder, but it’s when he removes his tight white tank top to reveal a thick upper body that looks sculpted by Zeus himself that they become deafening. It’s a wonder he can even stay on beat because she can’t hear the music at all anymore over the crowd.

And then he’s suddenly staring straight at her which _should_ be impossible given how dark it is in the room, but he’s one hundred percent holding her gaze when he begins to unzip his pants, biting his lower lip shyly as the ripped jeans slide down his legs.

Furiosa squirms nervously. Luckily the girls are too busy screaming and whooping along with everyone else to notice her shifting uncomfortably in her seat. She feels her heart stop when he points directly at her and moves the extended digit in a ‘come hither’ motion. She starts to shake her head no, tries to slink further down into her seat, but before she knows it the girls have pushed her out of the booth and ushered her towards the stage.

He holds out his hand to her amongst the boos and jeers of the jealous crowd who’d been hoping to be called up, and reluctantly, she takes it. He sits her down in a chair that definitely wasn’t there before (or maybe she’d just been too busy staring at _him_ to notice) and straddles her legs, the only thing separating her eyes from his dick a thin piece of stretchy black fabric masquerading as boxer briefs. He smells so much better than she’d expected, like a mixture of soap, sweat, and a bit of cologne that can only be described as intoxicating.

She’s doing what she can not to react, biting the inside of her cheek and squeezing her thighs together, but the way he’s looking at her is making it extremely difficult. It’s equal parts sheepish and bashful—the absolute last look she’d expect to see on a stripper’s face. The crowd is going wild, but all she notices is the small, awkward smile that he’s giving her as he masterfully gyrates in front of her. For a solid minute it feels like it’s just the two of them, like they’re having a quiet conversation in a very loud room, and then it’s over. The song ends and the crowd breaks out into thunderous applause, people rushing the stage and throwing money in the hopes that he'll turn their way.

Instead he helps her down from the stage where she’s immediately swarmed by the girls all talking at once. Shaking her head, she pushes them away and makes a beeline for the front door for some air because the last thing she needs is their jeering commentary while she’s still trying to process what had happened. She quickly ducks into the alley next to the club and leans her head back against the cool brick wall, enjoying the rough surface through her buzzcut as she works to put her mind back together, and it’s then that she realizes she’s shaking. She isn’t used to losing control like that, to being so turned on that she can’t even _think_ straight, and the fact that it’s a _stripper_ who’d gotten under her skin frightens her because is she really that hard up? Sure, it’s been awhile since she'd last gotten off with another person, but a _stripper_?

A door she hadn’t noticed opens further down in the alleyway and the very person she’d been thinking about appears. He’s back in his leather jacket and jeans; apparently he’d just worn his normal clothing on stage, a fact that both amuses and endears him to her. Against her better judgement she clears her throat and takes a step forward, slipping out of the shadows to get his attention. “Hey.”

He jumps and turns, expression wary, but then his eyes light up in recognition. He nods once and turns to walk away, and before she can stop herself she raises her voice again. “Hold on.” He pauses and tilts his head curiously, gesticulating with his eyes for her to continue. “Why did you pick me?” As much as she wishes she didn’t care she wants to make sure that it wasn’t pity that had made him pull her up onstage, that he’d seen something in her besides the prosthetic on her right arm, but it’s the only thing that makes sense as she’d been surrounded by five beautiful young girls when he’d chosen her.

He opens and closes his mouth a couple of times, like he’s trying to get to get his thoughts together, but then just shrugs. “Saw you walk in.”

Furiosa cocks an eyebrow, annoyed, because that doesn’t do _anything_ to answer her question. “So?”

He shrugs again, but a slight, cocky smirk plays at his lips this time. “I like a challenge.”

She lets out a sharp bark of laughter, surprised by his honesty. “Do you now?” she asks, unable to fully suppress the grin threatening to split her face. She feels like she’s watching another person talk to him and honestly can’t remember the last time she’s flirted this openly with a man, nevermind someone whose _job_ it is to make her fall for him.

If it’s even possible, his voice becomes quieter and he ducks his head. “If I think she’s worth it.”

She knows without a doubt that this is a mistake, that she should bid him goodnight and head back into the club, but her feet are walking towards him on her own because so what if he gets naked for money? He doesn’t need to be a bastion of morality for her to hook up with him. He fully turns towards her as approaches, smirk widening slightly, but then the moment is ruined by the sound of footsteps approaching the alley.

“Furiosa! Are you still out here?” Angharad calls. She stops short when she sees the two of them standing only a few feet away from each other and awkwardly stares in surprise. “Oh. Hi.”

Immediately all traces of his earlier interest are gone, instead replaced by a look of calm indifference. He nods towards them and turns away, disappearing around the corner to where the parking lot is.

Angharad looks between Furiosa and the retreating man curiously. “Did I just ruin something?”

“No.” She strides back into the club before the girl can ask anything else, but it doesn’t stop the tall blonde from keeping pace with her.

“For someone who didn’t want to be here, you seemed _really_ into that stripper.”

“He’s a good dancer. I was surprised.”

A knowing smirk appears on Angharad’s face. “Uh-huh.”

She knows when she’s fighting a losing battle, so instead of continuing to argue, Furiosa makes an abrupt turn towards the club’s bar. The prices are about as insane as she expects, but she plops down five dollars for a bud light anyway; her mouth is unusually dry, and water won’t do anything to calm the blood rushing to her extremities.

Thankfully they only stay at the strip club for another half hour. After ‘Magic Max’ the quality once rapidly declines into overly muscled men humping the ground, and it shows; half of the club has gradually drifted away to head home or to other nearby bars.

On the walk home the girls can’t stop giggling in disbelief about what they’d done, and even moreso that Furiosa had actually gone on stage for a personal lap dance in front of a room full of strangers as if they _hadn't_ been the ones to force her up there in the first place. Whenever they try to tease her, though, she simply ignores them; she’d learned long ago that the only way to get them to stop was to not give them what they wanted, and she’s understandably relieved when she sees their apartment complex come into view.

They all live in Citadel, one of the largest apartment complexes in the city. It isn’t the nicest by far but it’s cheap and within biking distance of the hospital where they all work. Angharad and Cheedo share one apartment, Toast and Capable another, and the Dag floats between the two depending on which has a better aura that day. She herself lives a floor above them with her older sister Valkyrie who works primarily as a private investigator, though when business is slow she dabbles in photography. They aren’t related by blood, but you don’t grow up with someone for thirty five years and _not_ consider them family.

She makes sure the girls are safely in their apartments before she trudges up the staircase to her own floor. Valkyrie isn’t home yet, something that she’s immensely thankful for. Her sister has the uncanny ability to know when something is up with her, and at the moment, she doesn’t think she can effectively school her face into believable nonchalance.

Furiosa pulls off her clothing, tossing them into the hazard laundry basket that contains her scrubs because she’d just been in a strip club for the better part of an hour, and quickly showers. The water feels amazing on her tired muscles; before going out drinking and then to the strip club with the girls, she’d pulled a full twelve hour shift. It hadn’t been a particularly difficult one, but she’d been on her feet almost all day.

As the water cascades down her body she finds herself remembering the scruffy stripper with the shy smile and suddenly she’s warm all over again. She’s surprised to find that she’s already wet as her fingers slowly slip below her bellybutton to rub against herself, and her back arches at the first touch of her thumb against her clit; she’s more revved up than she’d thought. She imagines his unusually plump lips on her, kissing her neck, then her chest, and then sliding between her thighs, his deep blue eyes looking up at her over the swell of her breasts.

And that does it. She groans out her orgasm, leaning back against the shower wall lest she fall and hurt herself. Her eyes stay closed for another minute as she relishes in the pleasurable rush of chemicals flooding her brain, and then she forces herself to lean forward to turn off the shower.

Once she calms down a little more, a feeling of shame develops in the pit of her stomach. She’d just masturbated thinking about a _stripper_ of all things, a man who gets _paid_ to make her feel special and doesn’t give a shit about her if she isn’t stuffing dollar bills in his thong. If Valkyrie ever gets wind of what she’d done she’ll have to move away and change her identity; she’ll never be able to live it down.  
  
And then she remembers their brief conversation outside of the club and can’t help the small grin that spreads across her face. She’ll probably never see him again because there’s absolutely _no chance_ she’s ever going back to that club, but it’s for the best; he’ll be able to live on in her memories as the scruffy stripper with the perfect body and the shy, awkward smile.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She meets him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now officially a two-shot. This chapter earns its rating so don't read if that's not your thing, and if you hate it, blame Makenzie!

One of the few good things about her job is that there’s rarely any time to think. There’s always an emergency to take care of or paperwork to fill out or another nurse to stop from goofing off, so for the next two weeks she barely thinks about ‘Magic Max’ even at night or in the shower. 

Predictably the girls had tried to tease a reaction out of her, singing or humming the song he’d danced to whenever she was within hearing distance—much to the confusion of their patients and fellow staff members—but she steadfastly ignored them until they’d gotten bored. They still try to bring him up even now, but it mostly consists of a sly grin or errant comment here and there which is something she can deal with.

She’s currently working the ER, and strangely it’s slow enough that she can actually take her time with each patient. There are only three patients currently in the room hidden behind light blue curtains, so she grabs a chart at random and pulls back the closest one only to come face to face with the stripper with the shy, awkward smile.

Her mind blanks, and it takes her a good ten seconds to say something instead of just staring at him like a creep. “Your name was actually Max?” He shrugs and grunts his answer, eyes widened a little in disbelief. He seems to be just as surprised to see her, which makes her feel a lot happier than it should because _ he actually remembers her. _ To hide her smile she looks down at his chart again, skimming it so that she can talk about something  _ other _ than his job. “It says you hurt your hand?”

He grunts again and holds it up, but all she can see is a bloody lump wrapped in a filthy rag. Alarmed, she quickly slips on a glove and reaches for his hand to take a closer look. She unwraps the rag and grimaces; It’s a pretty nasty wound. It looks like three of his fingers have been cut pretty deeply, but luckily nothing is broken and he’s not in danger of losing any of them.

“What happened?” she asks, glancing at his chart again to check for any allergies or other issues she should be aware of before giving him anything.

“Working on m’engine and m’dog surprised me. Got it caught.”

Furiosa nods and opens a few drawers, looking for the supplies she needs to help him. First she wipes away the excess blood as well as she can and then cleans it with a few cotton balls and rubbing alcohol. She’s surprised by how well he handles the pain, the only sign of discomfort he gives being a slight twitch of his eye, and now that she can actually see what she’s working with a feeling of relief washes over her. “It’s a gusher, but it’s not as deep as I expected. We can probably get away with only nine or ten stitches.”

He takes the stitches even better, watching her work in complete silence. He’s so quiet that she has to look up every couple of minutes to make sure that he hasn’t passed out from the pain or blood loss, and she’s even more surprised that he hasn’t not-so-subtly questioned if she can actually do her job effectively with the use of a prosthetic like a lot of her patients.

“All set. Just take it easy on your hand for a couple of days and drink a lot of fluids to replenish some of your blood. Come back in a couple weeks to get them removed, and no... _ strenuous _ activity.”

“Thanks.” His eyes flit down to her ID card. “Furiosa.” Hearing her name come from his lips makes the hairs on her arms stands up, and she tries not to feel disappointed as he stands and walks away—probably forever. She doesn’t know what she’d been expecting, really. He’d danced for her and they’d had a brief conversation behind a strip club;  _ that’s it. _ She shakes her head and fills out his chart, doing her best not to look at his phone number. It annoys her more than she cares to admit how far he’s gotten under her skin.

An hour later her shift ends and she practically sprints out of the door, waving a quick goodbye to Cheedo and Dag on her way out. After Max left they’d suddenly had an influx of patients, all with much more serious injuries, and she hadn’t been able to so much as take a break—the bright side being that she wasn’t able to dwell on his sudden appearance in her emergency room.

She quickly unlocks her old Volvo and throws her bag into the front seat, eager to get home for some much needed rest. She turns the key to start it only for it to struggle to turnover and then immediately die on her. “Shit,” she sighs, leaning forward to rest her forehead on the steering wheel. She hadn’t had a lot of time to do any maintenance on her car in the last six months or so, and apparently that was a mistake.

She’s about to call for Val to pick her up when a knock on the hood of her car nearly makes her jump out of her skin. She looks up to see Max staring at her through her windshield, making a motion that she assumes means ‘pop the hood’, and she cocks her head at him apprehensively. She herself isn’t bad with cars and feels like she can figure the problem out herself given a little time, but she does it anyway if only because he’s already there and she's tired.

She slips out of the car to watch him work, crossing her arms as she observes what he’s doing from over his shoulder. He spends a minute or two just looking around, and then he dives in to fiddle with something. He stands back up a couple minutes later with a tiny smile, looking far too pleased with himself.

“Wire to your starter was loose, taped it down for now. Should hold for a bit but you’ll wanna get a wrench to tighten it soon.”

Furiosa raises an eyebrow. “You taped it? With what?” Her eyes fall to his hand, now unbandaged, and frowns. “Are you kidding me?”

Max shrugs. “S’fine, I’m not bleeding anymore. Night.”

She’d learned many times over the years that men rarely did something for nothing, so she’s understandably shocked when he turns around and leaves without another word. She watches him walk back towards the front of the hospital and sit down on the bus stop bench; evidently he hadn’t managed to fix his car after slicing his hand open.

She slips back into the front seat and sticks the key into the ignition, smiling with relief when it starts up without too much trouble, and slowly pulls away out of her spot to head home. Just as she’s about to exit the parking lot, she glances into the rear view mirror at Max. She knows from personal experience that the bus is both infrequent and inconsistent, so against her better judgement she pulls the car around to where he’s sitting and rolls down the passenger side window. “Get in, I'll give you a ride.”

He looks surprised by the offer, mouth falling open slightly, but then he jerkily shakes his head. “No, I'll uh, I’ll make my own way.”

Furiosa blinks at his response. Being refused makes her a little annoyed, especially considering she's already going out of her way to help him when she  _ could _ be headed home for a hot shower and her warm, fluffy bed. “Your hand needs to be rebandaged. If you want it to get any better you’ll have to either go back inside or let me fix it.”

He hesitates at her warning and frowns down at the blood slowly beginning to seep out of his fingers again. After a bit more thought he reluctantly stands and makes his way over to the passenger side door.

The instant he slides into her car and buckles his seat belt she pulls away from the hospital before he can change his mind. They reach the exit and she waits a few seconds for him to say something, but it soon becomes apparent that for some reason he has absolutely no intention of speaking. “I don’t know where you live, by the way.”

“Oh, sorry, uh...make a left.”

She raises an eyebrow at how unsure he sounds and does as he asks, pulling onto the largely deserted street. They drive for longer than she expects as he continues leads her in the complete opposite direction of where she lives, making her sigh inwardly at how much further her trip will be when she’s ready to go home. The number of buildings begins to grow more sparse the longer she drives, and she’s just beginning to worry that maybe she’s being  _ too _ trusting when he points at a small beige house surrounded by trees. It’s nothing special, but it’s certainly nicer than she’d expected his place to be. 

“This is me. Thanks for the ride,” he mumbles, already halfway out her door before she’s even fully pulled into his small driveway.

She quickly shuts off the car and grabs her medkit from the glove box to follow him up the walkway leading to his front door. 

Max pauses and turns to stare at her, noticeably put off by how close she’s standing next to him even though it's really not that close at all. Funny, considering what he does for a living. “You don’t have to help me.” 

Furiosa shrugs and glances at his front door. “Might as well, I’m already here. What, your girlfriend in there?” She winces a bit at how nosy she sounds, but she really would like to know exactly what she’s walking into.

When it becomes clear that she has no intention of leaving without fixing his hand, he sighs and unlocks the door. The sound of scuffling on the other side piques her curiosity, and the second he opens it a mid-sized brown mutt jumps up onto him.

“Goose, sit,” Max commands sternly, making a quick motion with his arm. The dog immediately takes a seat, tail wagging excitedly when Max runs his hand over his head. He then looks expectantly at Furiosa, who carefully reaches out to do the same. He sniffs at her hand for a few seconds before licking at her fingers, and she laughs at the feeling.

“So this is the little troublemaker who caused your accident? He’s adorable,” she smiles, bending down to pet him with her good hand. He looks a bit like a german shepherd mixed with a pit bull if she had to guess, but there’s absolutely no telling what he is for sure. He’s practically vibrating with excitement, panting heavily right into her face, and she scrunches her nose at his puppy breath.

“Don’t spoil him, he’ll never leave you alone if y’do.”

She ignores him and continues scratching the dog behind the ears, smile widening when his tongue lolls out of his mouth. “Aw, poor puppy. Does Max ignore you?” She spends another minute or so lavishing him with attention before standing and deciding she should probably actually do what she came for.

Looking around his place she notices it’s a lot cleaner than she’d expected, though that’s probably because it’s pretty sparse inside. There's isn't much in the way of personal affects, but there's a lot of interesting looking furniture. She sets her med kit down on one of such pieces serving as his coffee table and opens it to pull out some hand sanitizer and a glove that she snaps on after cleaning her hand. She then sprays her prosthetic with antibacterial and holds her hand out to him insistently from where she’s sitting on his couch. It takes an impatient rise of her eyebrow to get him to sit with her, but he eventually sighs and does as she demands.

She scoots close enough that their knees are nearly touching and then gets to work, removing the tattered remains of her old dressing and cleaning up the new blood that had oozed from between his stitches. She’s once again surprised at how well he handles the pain; she’s seen men much larger in size crumble after little more than a touch of rubbing alcohol but he’s still not even flinching. She finishes re-wrapping it and raises her head to look him sternly in the eye. “This time don’t use your bandages to fix a car.”

Taking his hand back and laughing a bit, he shakes his head. “Thanks. Again.” He smiles for the first time that night, and she can’t stop her eyes from falling to his lips. When he’s looking at her like  _ that _ she can clearly see why he’s so popular at the club.

“You know, I used to be a dancer. Interpretive ballet, mostly,” she offers suddenly. She’s not exactly sure why she tells him this and tilts her head when he doesn’t so much as blink. “You don’t look surprised.”

“Could tell. Your body has this, ah...grace. And power. The way you move, I mean.”

"Oh." She feels her body temperature spike briefly at his words, hoping that her face doesn’t look as flushed as it feels. His blue eyes draw her in, and before she knows it she’s leaning closer. His lips meet hers and they’re  _ so much softer _ than she’d imagined, pulling a surprised grunt from her throat. She moves in even more until he’s forced to lean back on his couch, and she can’t believe that she’s doing this—that she’s being so aggressive with a man she knows pretty much nothing about. It’s  _ for sure _ a huge mistake and will come back to bite her at some point in the not too distant future, but it’s hard to think about any of that when all she can concentrate on is how good his warm body feels below hers.

Her fingers slide up his shirt to rake against his abs, earning a low, strangled groan from his lips. Any doubts she has about how he's feeling about where things are going are promptly destroyed by his left hand coming up to grip the back of her head, holding her in place so that she can't back away even if she wants to.

She’s about to try and pull his t-shirt over his head when a high pitched whine draws their attention. The both of them turn to look down at Goose sitting up on his back legs, his tail wagging violently as he begs for attention.

Max gives her a slightly exasperated smile. “Told you he wouldn’t leave you alone.”

“Bedroom?” she asks, ignoring his statement and trying to figure out which closed door is the correct one. Before she can even stand he picks her up so that she’s forced to wrap her legs around his waist to keep from falling. She’s not at all a small woman, so the way he so easily walks them both into his room and kicks the door shut behind him is more than impressive. It’s good to know that the muscle he’d displayed on stage wasn’t just for show.

He tosses her down on the bed and immediately removes his shirt, staring down at her with a look she can’t quite decipher but it makes her cheeks heat up anyway. She’s glad she’s still in her scrubs as they’re very easy to remove, and she kicks clumsily to get her pants off while simultaneously pulling her top over her head. She growls indignantly when it gets stuck on her prosthetic, and rather than try to untangle it, she just unhooks the arm to pull it off along with the shirt so that she’s only in the tank top she wears underneath it. When she meets his eyes again he’s still staring down at her with that same look. 

“What?” she huffs.

He shrugs a bit, his earlier forwardness replaced by a sudden meekness. “Are you...sure?”

She supposes she should be glad that he’s checking in with her to make sure that she’s still into it, but the feeling that washes over her instead is closer to annoyance. She sits up a bit more and grabs his hips to pull them forward, eliciting a sharp gasp from his throat, and now that it’s right in front of her face she can see the outline of his erection through his unbuttoned jeans and dark blue boxer briefs. She’s more pleased than she cares to admit that he’s not wearing a thong like he does on stage; it makes the whole thing a whole lot less distasteful somehow. 

He leans down to capture her lips in another rough kiss and then breaks it to pepper more along her throat. It feels amazing, but she doesn’t really need the foreplay; she’s more than wet enough. “Condom?” she asks, pulling away to look at him.

He shrugs and shakes his head, causing her to gape up at him incredulously.

_ “You don’t have any condoms?”  _ She doesn’t give him a chance to reply and instead shoves him off to rush half naked back into the living room, dodging Goose on the way out the door. Luckily her medical kit is prepared for all sorts of different situations and she has a few tucked away just for such an occasion; it’s not the first time a man has ‘conveniently’ forgotten to keep one handy.

His pants are gone when she returns and his underwear is doing very little to hide exactly how excited he is. She pulls her tank over her head and flings it into a corner. “Off,” she commands as she straddles him, bringing the foil packet of the condom to her mouth and ripping open one side of it with her teeth. The second he’s slid his boxer briefs down his legs and kicked them onto the floor she sits on his thighs and reaches for his cock, slowly stroking until it’s like steel in her hand. She easily rolls the condom on, smirking at the clear desire on his face, and she really isn’t surprised when his impatience eventually gets the better of him. In one quick movement Furiosa finds herself on her back with her own underwear gone and his tip pressed insistently against her opening. 

He hesitates long enough to make her worry that maybe he’s not going to go through with it after all, but then he says the absolute last thing she expects. 

“You’re beautiful.”

Her eyes widen a bit because It’s not exactly a thing she’s used to hearing from men. ‘Hot’ or ‘sexy’ is much more common, so his mumbled statement throws her more than she cares to admit. Although she knows she’s attractive,  _ beautiful _ seems like a bit of a stretch; especially coming from a guy who probably gets propositioned a dozen times a night. With that in mind she playfully squints back up at him, refusing to let his words get to her. “Didn’t figure you for a smooth talker.”

“M’not.”

She opens her mouth to reply but then he’s sliding inside of her with one long, fluid movement. She has to bite her lip to hold in the gasp threatening to bubble out of her throat, and any misguided thoughts she’d had about him being a meek or tender lover are almost immediately thrown out the window as he begins to pound into her at a pace that can only be described as punishing.

She holds on for dear life as he mercilessly grinds into her, hoping she’s not scratching his back up too much where her nails are digging into him, but it’s  _ really _ hard to give a shit when he’s making it impossible for her to even string together a coherent thought. Even holding her head up turns out to be too much effort, and she lets it loll back onto the bed; which turns out to be a huge mistake as his lips immediately latch onto the exposed flesh in a way that significantly heightens the amount of pleasure she’s feeling.

He suddenly flips her over onto her stomach, giving her no time to adjust before he’s sinking his cock right back into her cunt. There’s absolutely nothing gentle about the way he’s fucking her and she  _ loves it.  _ In this position she’s finally able to reciprocate, pushing back into him so that he has to grip her hips in a way that’s almost painful just to keep from slipping out.

The only sounds in the room are coming from her moans, his gasps, and his hips smacking hard against her ass. There’s a familiar, warm tightness in her stomach that’s quickly spreading to the rest of her body, and it’s then that she belatedly realizes she’s about to come—which is surprising because she doesn’t come this fast with another person  _ ever _ .

Max seems to sense this as he abruptly turns her onto her side and lifts one of her legs onto his shoulder in an attempt to get even deeper. The rough fingers of his uninjured left hand slides down to rub against her clit and she couldn’t stop her limbs from seizing and shaking if she tried.

Their eyes meet right as she orgasms. He looks just about as far gone as she does, and the feel of him hardening into diamond inside of her is the last thing she’s able to process before her vision goes white and all she can focus on is the pleasure exploding from every part of her body. She’s vaguely aware of the sound of him groaning above her, but mostly she just hears the blood rushing in her ears.

She doesn’t know how long she spends spasming on the bed with her fingers and toes clenched tightly, though by the time she comes down enough to be aware of her surroundings again Max has already fallen out of her, lying on his back behind her while he too struggles to catch his breath. She watches through half-lidded eyes as he lethargically pulls the condom off of his dick, ties it, and drop it into what she hopes is a wastebasket on the other side of the bed.

“You okay?” he asks through pants, chest still rising and falling like he’d just run a full marathon.

Furiosa can only huff out a laugh at the question because did he  _ really _ have the nerve to ask if she was alright? After what he’d just done to her? Using what little energy she can muster she turns over until she’s lying half on top of his sweaty body. Tiny sparks of pleasure are still coursing through her system, and when he wraps an arm around her to gently rub her back, she feels a tug in her chest that frankly terrifies her. It had been good, _too_ good, and maybe that's just because it'd been awhile since she'd last had full blown sex like that but she's already wondering when she'll be able to drop by again.

“I should go,” she mumbles drowsily, making a move to extricate herself from his grip. Getting attached after a hookup is the absolute last thing she should be doing, and so is staying overnight with a veritable stranger. All she’d wanted was a quick lay without all of the extra feelings involved, and that’s exactly what she got. Now, if only her legs didn’t feel like rubber.

Max doesn’t exactly tighten his arm, but he doesn’t try help her get up either. “You don’t have to.”

“Are you sure?” When he hums his affirmation she smiles a bit and relaxes, releasing a long, tired breath and leaning more heavily against him. Sure, staying is probably a bad idea, but so is the idea of driving home while she’s likely to fall asleep at the wheel and die. She’s even more exhausted now than when she’d first arrived and isn’t sure if she could make it to the front door on her jello legs anyway. Yawning widely, she closes her eyes to rest them for an hour or two. She’ll sneak out early and be home before he even notices she’s gone.

**Author's Note:**

> Technically part of a multi-chap but it's already been in my docs for two years now and has barely progressed in that time so better a oneshot than a noshot? 
> 
> Why did I write this I'm sorry


End file.
